I suspect, as I said, that they have not treated my Nisse fairly in these matter-of-fact days that have come upon us, not altogether for our own good, I fear. I am not even certain that they were quite serious about him then, though to my mind that was very unreasonable4. But then there is
[34]
nothing so unreasonable to a child as the cold reason of the grown-ups. However, if they have gone back on him, I know where to find him yet. Only last Christmas when I talked of him to the tenement-house mothers in my Henry Street Neighborhood House,[1]—all of them from the ever faithful isle,—I saw their eyes light up with the glad smile of recognition, and half a dozen called out excitedly, "The Little People! the Leprecawn ye mean, we know him well," and they were not more pleased than I to find that we had an old friend in common. For the Nisse, or the Leprecawn, call him whichever you like, was a friend indeed to those who loved kindness and peace. If there was a house in which contention5 ruled, either he would have nothing to do with it, like the stork6 that built its nest on the roof, or else he paid the tenants7 back in their own coin, playing all kinds of tricks upon them and making it very uncomfortable. I suppose it was this trait that gave people, when they began to reason so much about things, the notion that he was really the wraith8, as it were, of their own disposition9, which was not so at all. I remember the story told of one man who quarrelled with everybody, and in consequence had a very troublesome Nisse in the house that provoked him to the point of moving away; which he did. But as the load of furniture
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was going down the street, with its owner hugging himself in glee at the thought that he had stolen a march on the Nisse, the little fellow poked10 his head out of the load and nodded to him, "We are moving to-day." At which naturally he flew into a great rage. But then, that was just a story.
The Nisse was of the family, as you see, very much of it, and certainly not to be classed with the cattle. Yet they were his special concern; he kept them quiet, and saw to it, when the stableman forgot, that they were properly bedded and cleaned and fed. He was very well known to the hands about the farm, and they said that he looked just like a little old man, all in gray and with a pointed11 red nightcap and long gray beard. He was always civilly treated, as he surely deserved to be, but Christmas was his great holiday, when he became part of it, indeed, and was made much of. So, for that matter, was everything that lived under the husbandman's roof, or within reach of it. The farmer always set a lighted candle in his window on Christmas Eve, to guide the lonesome wanderer to a hospitable12 hearth13. The very sparrows that burrowed14 in the straw thatch15, and did it no good, were not forgotten. A sheaf of rye was set out in the snow for them, so that on that night at least they should have shelter and warmth unchallenged, and plenty to eat. At all other times we were permitted to raid their nests and help ourselves to a
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sparrow roast, which was by long odds16 the greatest treat we had. Thirty or forty of them, dug out of any old thatch roof by the light of the stable lantern and stuffed into Ane's long stocking, which we had borrowed for a game-bag, made a meal for the whole family, each sparrow a fat mouthful. Ane was the cook, and I am very certain that her pot-roast of sparrow would pass muster17 at any Fifth Avenue restaurant as the finest dish of reed-birds that ever was. However, at Christmas their sheaf was their sanctuary18, and no one as much as squinted19 at them. Only last winter when Christmas found me stranded20 in a little Michigan town, wandering disconsolate21 about the streets, I came across such a sheaf raised on a pole in a dooryard, and I knew at once that one of my people lived in that house and kept Yule in the old way. So I felt as if I were not quite a stranger.
All the animals knew perfectly22 well that the holiday had come, and kept it in their way. The watch-dog was unchained. In the midnight hour on the Holy Eve the cattle stood up in their stalls and bowed out of respect and reverence23 for Him who was laid in a manger when there was no room in the inn, and in that hour speech was given them, and they talked together. Claus, our neighbor's man, had seen and heard it, and every Christmas Eve I meant fully24 to go and be there when it happened; but always long before that I had been led
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away to bed, a very sleepy boy, with all my toys hugged tight, and when I woke up the daylight shone through the frosted window-panes, and they were blowing good morning from the church tower; it would be a whole year before another Christmas. So I vowed25, with a sigh at having neglected a really sacred observance, that I would be there sure on the next Christmas Eve. But it was always so, every year, and perhaps it was just as well, for Claus said that it might go ill with the one who listened, if the cows found him out.
Blowing in the Yule from the grim old tower that had stood eight hundred years against the blasts of the North Sea was one of the customs of the Old Town that abide26, however it fares with the Nisse; that I know. At sun-up, while yet the people were at breakfast, the town band climbed the many steep ladders to the top of the tower, and up there, in fair weather or foul,—and sometimes it blew great guns from the wintry sea,—they played four old hymns27, one to each corner of the compass, so that no one was forgotten. They always began with Luther's sturdy challenge, "A Mighty28 Fortress29 is our God," while down below we listened devoutly30. There was something both weird31 and beautiful about those far-away strains in the early morning light of the northern winter, something that was not of earth and that suggested to my child's imagination the angels' song on far Judean hills.
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Even now, after all these years, the memory of it does that. It could not have been because the music was so rare, for the band was made up of small storekeepers and artisans who thus turned an honest penny on festive32 occasions. Incongruously enough, I think, the official town mourner who bade people to funerals was one of them. It was like the burghers' guard, the colonel of which—we thought him at least a general, because of the huge brass33 sword he trailed when he marched at the head of his men—was the town tailor, a very small but very martial34 man. But whether or no, it was beautiful. I have never heard music since that so moved me. When the last strain died away came the big bells with their deep voices that sang far out over field and heath, and our Yule was fairly under way.
A whole fortnight we kept it. Real Christmas was from Little Christmas Eve, which was the night before the Holy Eve proper, till New Year. Then there was a week of supplementary35 festivities before things slipped back into their wonted groove36. That was the time of parties and balls. The great ball of the year was on the day after Christmas. Second Christmas Day we called it, when all the quality attended at the club-house, where the Amtmand and the Burgomaster, the Bishop37 and the Rector of the Latin School, did the honors and received the people. That was the grandest of the town functions. The school ball, late in autumn,
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was the jolliest, for then the boys invited each the girl he liked best, and the older people were guests and outsiders, so to speak. The Latin School, still the "Cathedral School," was as old as the Domkirke itself, and when it took the stage it was easily first while it lasted. The Yule ball, though it was a rather more formal affair, for all that was neither stiff nor tiresome38; nothing was in the Old Town; there was too much genuine kindness for that. And that it was the recognized occasion when matches were made by enterprising mammas, or by the young themselves, and when engagements were declared and discussed as the great news of the day. We heard of all those things afterward39 and thought a great fuss was being made over nothing much. For when a young couple were declared engaged, that meant that there was no more fun to be out of them. They were given, after that, to go mooning about by themselves and to chasing us children away when we ran across them; until they happily returned to their senses, got married, and became reasonable human beings once more.
When we had been sent to bed on the great night, Father and Mother went away in their Sunday very best, and we knew they would not return until two o'clock in the morning, a fact which alone invested the occasion with unwonted gravity, for the Old Town kept early hours. At ten o'clock, when
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the watchman droned his sleepy lay, absurdly warning the people to
Be quick and bright,
Watch fire and light,
Our clock it has struck ten,
it was ordinarily tucked in and asleep. But that night we lay awake a long time listening to the muffled41 sound of heavy wheels in the snow rolling unceasingly past, and trying to picture to ourselves the grandeur43 they conveyed. Every carriage in the town was then in use and doing overtime44. I think there were as many as four.
When we were not dancing or playing games, we literally45 ate our way through the two holiday weeks. Pastry46 by the mile did we eat, and general indigestion brooded over the town when it emerged into the white light of the new year. At any rate it ought to have done so. It is a prime article of faith with the Danes to this day that for any one to go out of a friend's house, or of anybody's house, in the Christmas season without partaking of its cheer, is to "bear away their Yule," which no one must do on any account. Every house was a bakery from the middle of December until Christmas Eve, and oh! the quantities of cakes we ate, and such cakes! We were sixteen normally, in our home, and Mother mixed the dough47 for her cakes in a veritable horse-trough kept for that exclusive purpose. As much as a sack of flour went in, I guess, and gallons of
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molasses and whatever else went to the mixing. For weeks there had been long and anxious speculations48 as to "what Father would do," and gloomy conferences between him and Mother over the state of the family pocket-book, which was never plethoric49; but at last the joyful50 message ran through the house from attic to kitchen that the appropriation51 had been made, "even for citron," which meant throwing all care to the winds. The thrill of it, when we children stood by and saw the generous avalanche52 going into the trough! What would not come out of it! The whole family turned to and helped make the cakes and cut the "pepper-nuts," which were little squares of spiced cake-dough we played cards for and stuffed our pockets with, gnawing53 them incessantly54. Talk about eating between meals: ours was a continuous performance for two solid weeks. The pepper-nuts were the real staple55 of Christmas to us children. We paid forfeits56 with them in the game of scratch-nose (jackstraws), when the fellow fishing for his straw stirred the others and had his nose scratched with the little file in the bunch as extra penalty; in "Under which tree lies my pig?" in which the pig was a pepper-nut, the fingers of the closed hands the trees; and in Black Peter. In this last the loser had his nose blackened with the snuff from the candle until advancing civilization substituted a burnt cork57. Christmas without pepper-nuts would have been a
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hollow mockery indeed. We rolled the dough in long strings58 like slender eels42 and then cut it, a little on the bias59. They were good, those nuts, when baked brown. I wish I had some now.
It all stood for the universal desire that in the joyous60 season everybody be made glad. I know that in the Old Town no one went hungry or cold during the holidays, if indeed any one ever did. Every one gave of what he had, and no one was afraid of pauperizing anybody by his gifts, for they were given gladly and in love, and that makes all the difference—did then and does now. At Christmas it is perfectly safe to let our scientific principles go and just remember the Lord's command that we love one another. I subscribe61 to them all with perfect loyalty62, and try to practise them till Christmas week comes in with its holly63 and the smell of balsam and fir, and the memories of childhood in the Old Town; then—well, anyway, it is only a little while. New Year and the long cold winter come soon enough.
Christmas Eve was, of course, the great and blessed time. That was the one night in the year when in the gray old Domkirke services were held by candle-light. A myriad64 wax candles twinkled in the gloom, but did not dispel65 it. It lingered under the great arches where the voice of the venerable minister, the responses of the congregation, and above it all the boyish treble of the choir66 billowed
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and strove, now dreamily with the memories of ages past, now sharply, tossed from angle to corner in the stone walls, and again in long thunderous echoes, sweeping67 all before it on the triumphant68 strains of the organ, like a victorious69 army with banners crowding through the halls of time. So it sounded to me, as sleep gently tugged70 at my eyelids71. The air grew heavy with the smell of evergreens72 and of burning wax, and as the thunder of war drew farther and farther away, in the shadow of the great pillars stirred the phantoms73 of mailed knights74 whose names were hewn in the grave-stones there. We youngsters clung to the skirts of Mother as we went out and the great doors fell to behind us. And yet those Christmas Eves, with Mother's gentle eyes forever inseparable from them, and with the glad cries of Merry Christmas ringing all about, have left a touch of sweet peace in my heart which all the years have not effaced75, nor ever will.
At home the great dinner of the year was waiting for us; roast goose stuffed with apples and prunes76, rice pudding with cinnamon and sugar on it, and a great staring butter eye in the middle. The pudding was to lay the ground-work with, and it was served in deep soup-plates. It was the dish the Nisse came in on, and the cat. On New Year's Eve both these were left out; but to make up for it an almond was slipped into the "gröd," and whoever found it in his plate got a present. It was no
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device to make people "fletch," but it served the purpose admirably. At Christmas we had doughnuts after the goose, big and stout77 and good. However I managed it, I don't know, but it is a tradition in the family, and I remember it well, that I once ate thirteen on top of the big dinner. Evidently I was having a good time. Dinner was, if not the chief end of man, at least an item in his make-up, and a big one.[2]
When it had had time to settle and all the kitchen work was done, Father took his seat at the end of the long table, with all the household gathered about, the servants included and the baby without fail, and read the story of The Child: "And it came to pass in those days," while Mother hushed the baby. Then we sang together "A Child is Born in Bethlehem," which was the simplest of our hymns, and also the one we children loved best, for it told of how in heaven we were to walk to church
On sky-blue carpets, star-bedeckt,
which was a great comfort. Children love beautiful things, and we had few of them. The great and precious treasure in our house was the rag
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carpet in the spare room which we were allowed to enter only on festive occasions such as Christmas. It had an orange streak78 in it which I can see to this day. Whenever I come across one that even remotely suggests it, it gives me yet a kind of solemn feeling. We had no piano,—that was a luxury in those days,—and Father was not a singer, but he led on bravely with his tremulous bass79 and we all joined in, Ane the cook and Maria the housemaid furtively80 wiping their eyes with their aprons81, for they were good and pious82 folk and this was their Christmas service. So we sang the ten verses to end, with their refrain "Hallelujah! hallelujah," that always seemed to me to open the very gates of Yule.
And it did, literally; for when the last hallelujah died away the door of the spare room was flung wide and there stood the Christmas tree, all shining lights, and the baby was borne in, wide-eyed, to be the first, as was proper; for was not this The Child's holiday? Unconsciously we all gave way to those who were nearest Him, who had most recently come from His presence and were therefore in closest touch with the spirit of the holiday. So, when we joined hands and danced around the tree, Father held the baby, and we laughed and were happy as the little one crowed his joy and stretched his tiny arms toward the light.
Light and shadow, joy and sorrow, go hand in
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hand in the world. While we danced and made merry, there was one near for whom Christmas was but grief and loss. Out in the white fields he went from farm to farm, a solitary83 wanderer, the folklore84 had it, looking for plough or harrow on which to rest his weary limbs. It was the Wandering Jew, to whom this hope was given, that, if on that night of all in the year he could find some tool used in honest toil85 over which the sign of the cross had not been made, his wanderings would be at an end and the curse depart from him, to cleave86 thence-forward to the luckless farmer.[3] He never found what he sought in my time. The thrifty87 husbandman had been over his field on the eve of the holiday with a watchful88 eye to his coming. When the bell in the distant church tower struck the midnight hour, belated travellers heard his sorrowful wail89 as he fled over the heath and vanished.
When Ansgarius preached the White Christ to the vikings of the North, so runs the legend of the Christmas tree, the Lord sent His three messengers, Faith, Hope, and Love, to help light the first tree. Seeking one that should be high as hope, wide as love, and that bore the sign of the cross on every bough90, they chose the balsam fir, which best of all
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the trees in the forest met the requirements. Perhaps that is a good reason why there clings about the Christmas tree in my old home that which has preserved it from being swept along in the flood of senseless luxury that has swamped so many things in our money-mad day. At least so it was then. Every time I see a tree studded with electric lights, garlands of tinsel-gold festooning every branch, and hung with the hundred costly91 knicknacks the storekeepers invent year by year "to make trade," until the tree itself disappears entirely92 under its burden, I have a feeling what a fraud has been practised on the kindly93 spirit of Yule. Wax candles are the only real thing for a Christmas tree, candles of wax that mingle94 their perfume with that of the burning fir, not the by-product95 of some coal-oil or other abomination. What if the boughs96 do catch fire; they can be watched, and too many candles are tawdry, anyhow. Also, red apples, oranges, and old-fashioned cornucopias97 made of colored paper, and made at home, look a hundred times better and fitter in the green; and so do drums and toy trumpets98 and waldhorns, and a rocking-horse reined99 up in front that need not have cost forty dollars, or anything like it.
I am thinking of one, or rather two, a little piebald team with a wooden seat between, for which Mother certainly did not give over seventy-five cents at the store, that as "Belcher and Mamie"—the names were bestowed100 on the beasts at sight by
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Kate, aged40 three, who bossed the play-room—gave a generation of romping101 children more happiness than all the expensive railroads and trolley-cars and steam-engines that are considered indispensable to keeping Christmas nowadays. And the Noah's Ark with Noah and his wife and all the animals that went two by two—ah, well! I haven't set out to preach a sermon on extravagance that makes no one happier, but I wish—The legend makes me think of the holly that grew in our Danish woods. We called it Christ-thorn, for to us it was of that the crown of thorns was made with which the cruel soldiers mocked our Saviour102, and the red berries were the drops of blood that fell from His anguished103 brow. Therefore the holly was a sacred tree, and to this day the woods in which I find it seem to me like the forest where the Christmas roses bloomed in the night when the Lord was born, different from all other woods, and better.
Mistletoe was rare in Denmark. There was known to be but one oak in all the land on which it grew. But that did not discourage the young. We had our kissing games which gave the boys and girls their chance to choose sides, and in the Christmas season they went on right merrily. There was rarely a night that did not bring the children together under some roof or other. They say that kissing goes by favor, but we had not arrived at that point yet, though we had our preferences. In the
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game of Post Office, for instance, he was a bold boy who would dare call out the girl he really liked, to get the letter that was supposed to be awaiting her. You could tell for a dead certainty who was his choice by watching whom he studiously avoided asking for. I have a very vivid recollection of having once really dared with sudden desperation, and of the defiant104 flushed face, framed in angry curls, that confronted me in the hall, the painful silence while we each stood looking the other way and heard our playmates tittering behind the closed door,—for well they knew,—and her indignant stride as she went back to her seat unkissed, with me trailing behind, feeling like a very sheepish boy, and no doubt looking the part.
The Old Year went out with much such a racket as we make nowadays, but of quite a different kind. We did not blow the New Year in, we "smashed" it in. When it was dark on New Year's Eve, we stole out with all the cracked and damaged crockery of the year that had been hoarded105 for the purpose and, hieing ourselves to some favorite neighbor's door, broke our pots against it. Then we ran, but not very far or very fast, for it was part of the game that if one was caught at it, he was to be taken in and treated to hot doughnuts. The smashing was a mark of favor, and the citizen who had most pots broken against his door was the most popular man in town. When I was in the Latin School, a
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cranky burgomaster, whose door had been freshly painted, gave orders to the watchmen to stop it and gave them an unhappy night, for they were hard put to it to find a way it was safe to look, with the streets full of the best citizens in town, and their wives and daughters, sneaking106 singly by with bulging107 coats on their way to salute108 a friend. That was when our mothers—those who were not out smashing in New Year—came out strong, after the fashion of mothers. They baked more doughnuts than ever that night, and beckoned109 the watchman in to the treat; and there he sat, blissfully deaf while the street rang with the thunderous salvos of our raids; until it was discovered that the burgomaster himself was on patrol, when there was a sudden rush from kitchen doors and a great scurrying110 through streets that grew strangely silent.
The town had its revenge, however. The burgomaster, returning home in the midnight hour, stumbled in his gate over a discarded Christmas tree hung full of old boots and many black and sooty pots that went down around him with great smash in the upset, so that his family came running out in alarm to find him sprawling111 in the midst of the biggest celebration of all. His dignity suffered a shock which he never got over quite. But it killed the New Year's fun, too. For he was really a good fellow, and then he was the burgomaster, and chief of police to boot. I suspect the fact was that the
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pot smashing had run its course. Perhaps the supply of pots was giving out; we began to use tinware more about that time. That was the end of it, anyhow.
We boys got square, too, with the watchmen. We knew their habit of stowing themselves away in the stage-coach that stood in the market-place when they had cried the hour at ten o'clock, and we caught them napping there one dark night when we were coming home from a party. The stage had doors that locked on the outside. We slammed them shut and ran the conveyance112, with them in it wildly gesticulating from the windows, through the main street of the town, amid the cheers of the citizens whom the racket aroused from their slumbers113. We were safe enough. The watchmen were not anxious to catch us, maddened as they were by our prank114, and they were careful not to report us either. I chuckled115 at that exploit more than once when, in years long after, I went the rounds of the midnight streets with Haroun-al-Roosevelt, as they called New York's Police Commissioner116, to find his patrolmen sleeping soundly on their posts when they should have been catching117 thieves. Human nature, police human nature, anyhow, is not so different, after all, in the old world and in the new.
With Twelfth Night our Yule came to an end. In that night, if a girl would know her fate, she must go to bed walking backward and throw a
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shoe over her left shoulder, or hide it under her pillow, I forget which, perhaps both, and say aloud a verse that prayed the Three Holy Kings to show her the man
Whose table I must set,
Whose bed I must spread,
Whose name I must bear,
Whose bride I must be.
The man who appeared to her in her sleep was to be her husband. There was no escape from it, and consequently she did not try. He was her Christmas gift, and she took him for better or for worse. Let us hope that the Nisse played her no scurvy118 trick, and that it was for better always.
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1
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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3
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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4
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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5
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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6
stork
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| n.鹳 | |
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7
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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9
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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10
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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11
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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13
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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14
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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15
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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16
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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17
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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18
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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19
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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32
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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33
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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34
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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35
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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36
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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37
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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38
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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39
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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40
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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41
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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42
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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43
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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44
overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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45
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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46
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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47
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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48
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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49
plethoric
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| adj.过多的，多血症的 | |
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50
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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51
appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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52
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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53
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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54
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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55
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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56
forfeits
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| 罚物游戏 | |
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57
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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58
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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59
bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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60
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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61
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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62
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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63
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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64
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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65
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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66
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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67
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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68
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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69
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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70
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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72
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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73
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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74
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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75
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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76
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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78
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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79
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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80
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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81
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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82
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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83
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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84
folklore
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| n.民间信仰，民间传说，民俗 | |
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85
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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86
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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87
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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88
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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89
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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90
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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91
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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92
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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93
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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94
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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95
by-product
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| n.副产品，附带产生的结果 | |
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96
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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97
cornucopias
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| n.丰饶角（象征丰饶的羊角，角内呈现满溢的鲜花、水果等）( cornucopia的名词复数 ) | |
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98
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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99
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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100
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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102
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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103
anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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104
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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105
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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107
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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108
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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109
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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111
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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112
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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113
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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114
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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115
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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117
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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118
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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